


The Cutest

by marauder_in_warblerland



Series: Klaine Advent Challenge 2014 [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauder_in_warblerland/pseuds/marauder_in_warblerland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's just had the first date from hell and his best friend gets to hear all about it. [Written for the Klaine Advent Challenge 2014]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cutest

**Author's Note:**

> Superlative adjective for cute [/kyo͞ot/]: 
> 
> 1\. Attractive in a pretty or endearing way, as in “a cute kitten”  
> 2\. Sexually attractive: North American, informal, as in “a cute guy”

When Kurt knocked on the door of apartment number 51, Blaine answered wearing his pajamas and carrying a bowl of half-eaten cereal. They were nice pajamas. Kurt recognized them from the Derek Rose collection, but they still made quite the contrast with Kurt’s suit and tie.

“He left,” Kurt announced, dropping his shoulder bag on the floor and marching into the living room. “He just left, without even a ‘so long, sucker’ for the road! I feel like a fool.” 

“He—,” Blaine watched in confusion as Kurt bustled into the apartment and stamped his way across floor, “are you talking about Eric? What do you mean ‘he left’?”

Kurt spun around, flinging his hands into the air like confetti. “I mean that he left in the middle of our first and _only_ date. No wait,” he said, voice rising in indignation, “he didn’t leave during dinner. He waited until after we’d eaten dinner and ordered dessert to disappear into the ether.”

Kurt turned to continue pacing up and down the wood-paneled floor of Blaine’s apartment. “I’ll have you know that _he_ contacted me on OKCupid. _He_ asked me out on a date, and now _he_ has the nerve to take what is mine?! He better move to another state, because New York just got too damn small for the both of us.”

“Wait,” Blaine perched on the arm of the sofa, eyebrows furrowed and one hand outstretched in concern, “he stole from you? Do you need me to call the police?”

“Not unless they deal in stolen dignity.”

“ _Kurt_.”

“I’m sure I’m going to miss it eventually, and that dinner wasn’t cheap,” Kurt huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Blaine nodded. “And he’s an asshole,” he said, sliding down to sit on the end of the sofa and patting the cushion at his side. “Anything I can do?”

Kurt plopped into the seat and sunk down with a petulant glare. “You could join me in giving up men forever, or humanity in general. Everything needs to be cleansed with fire.”

“Absolutely.”

“We could become the first non-religious monks in the state of New York.”

“Fantastic idea,” Blaine smiled.

“But first, we need to find Eric—” Kurt went on, waving his hands in front of his face like the conductor of an evil orchestra.

“Kurt.”

“— and we need to make him feel excruciatingly intimate pain, preferably in public. I think his profile said something about an allergy to tree pollen . . .”

“KURT.”

“Hmm?” Kurt looked up, as Blaine interrupted a fantasy that would make Tarantino blush.

Blaine cocked his head like a teacher dealing with an uncooperative student. “What did you actually like about this guy?”

“About Eric?” Kurt asked, crossing his hands back over his chest. “He— I mean—it seemed like we could have— if things had gone differently—” He fumbled for his words, and they only got more difficult to hold when Blaine raised an eyebrow in dubious amusement. “I—he left me in the middle of the restaurant with two pieces of chocolate cake and no date! You’d have trouble coming up with compliments too!”

Kurt sank even lower as Blaine tried not to laugh. “You know what? I don’t even know how he left!” Kurt said, the thought materializing as it came out of his mouth. “Graze only has one dining room and it’s right by the front door. For all I know, he climbed out of the bathroom window and shimmied down the drainpipe, like he was staging an escape from Alcatraz.”

“I don’t think they have open-air drainpipes at Alcatraz.”

“NOT THE POINT, BLAINE.”

“I know,” Blaine smiled, softly, “but Kurt? Are you really upset that a man with no sense of etiquette or basic humanity doesn’t like you, especially when you don’t think much of him?”

Kurt glared a hole in Blaine’s area rug. It wasn’t the first time. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

“As opposed to which way?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Oh stop, I know. I’m just getting the righteous sulk out of my system before I get in touch with my better angels. Happy?” 

“Overjoyed,” Blaine said with a nudge. “Did you at least get two desserts out of the deal?”

“No. . . or, sort of,” Kurt replied, as he cracked a disgruntled smile. “I took them both to go. I wasn’t about to sit there, in the middle of Graze, downing two pieces of cake by my lonesome. After that kind of public humiliation, I’d be forced to buy a shelter-full of cats and hand myself over to eternal isolation.”

“Nothing else for it,” Blaine shrugged, “but before you buy a monastery full of cats, could you do me a favor?” He waited for Kurt to shrug back before he continued. “I need you to stop thinking. You are going to take this magazine,” he said, grabbing the latest _Harper’s Bazaar_ from the easy chair and dropping it into Kurt’ lap. “Then, you are going to find the ten worst outfits, so that we can tear them to shreds. While you do that, _and only that_ , I am going to go heat up our cake, because we’ve earned it.”

With a proud smile, Blaine popped up from the sofa, swiped Kurt’s doggie bag from the floor, and headed toward the kitchen, before Kurt could trouble his plan. As he reached the kitchen entryway though, he paused and slowly turned, his back pressed tight against the doorframe.

“Just so you know,” he said, his smile gone and his eyes trained on the floor, “I would never do that to you. Even if we’re just friends and so it doesn’t mean the same thing, I could never leave you.” 

He disappeared into the kitchen before Kurt could respond, the door swinging in his wake, and Kurt was left wondering when Blaine—or at least the Blaine in his mind— had changed.

They’d first met years ago in Tina’s freshman dorm room. Blaine and Tina had been practicing something from advanced social dance, and Kurt just watched as they spun through the tiny room, hitting desk chairs and textbooks on every turn. Oh, he remembered Blaine’s hair, and the tight line of his cardigan as it scrunched up in the back. _Cute_. That’s what he’d thought. _That boy is so cute_ , but somewhere along the way, he’d gone from “cute” to, well, Blaine. His Blaine. He became Blaine the friend, Blaine the performance wunderkind, Blaine, the kid who turned up at his side as they left rehearsal and started the long walk back to their respective apartments downtown.

Back then, Kurt was with Adam and Blaine was with . . . someone, probably Jacob. It— _they_ weren’t a possibility, and so he became Blaine, the guy who brought coffee and mini-donuts when Kurt was pulling an all-nighter in the theater. He became Blaine, the boy who cried in the bathroom when he couldn’t land the barrel turn for the Spring Musicale.

One night, he remembered playing a game with Sam and Tina, watching _Snatch_ and drinking every time they couldn’t understand Brad Pitt’s lines. They all must have been out of their minds on cheap vodka, but he could only see Blaine, nuzzled into his side like a drunk puppy, slurring, “I have to drink againnn, Kurt. I don’t underssstand boxing.”

He got messy.

For a second, as Blaine turned to go into the kitchen, Kurt’s cake in one hand, Kurt had seen the kid from the dorm room again. He’d seen that beautiful boy, and he wondered when “cute” became a quality that had to be simple. Kurt certainly had a type; Devin was cute and funny. Nathan was cute and crazy smart. Even Eric was cute, and nothing more. _Why_ , he wondered, tapping the magazine against his thigh, _couldn’t “cute” also be a boy with thirteen performance rituals, all of which had to be completed by noon?_

Kurt was still lost in college memories when Blaine returned from the kitchen, warm plates and forks in hand. 

“Find anything good?” he asked, eyeing the closed magazine rolled up like beat-stick on Kurt’s lap.

“Oh!” Kurt started, and flipped the magazine open to the first available page. “Yes, I—” He paused to take in what he’d accidentally found and Blaine jumped in with a laugh.

“Isn’t that one horrible?” he grinned. “It’s like Roberto Cavalli took an entire accessory wall and piled it on the poor girl’s shoulders. Setting aside the question of comfort, what were they even thinking? She looks like a mess!” Blaine bit into his cake with relish and waited for Kurt to continue his critique.

Kurt wanted to pile on the scorn, but he couldn’t just yet. He stared down at the open page and at the model, sporting suspenders, a floppy hat, and leg-warmers, all in an unsightly green. It was hideous, an obvious example of a new designer still learning how to edit, but something about the interplay of the hat and the blue onesie underneath had him captivated. It was—

“Kurt?” Blaine poked him in the shoulder with the blunt end of his fork, his voice tinged with horror. “Please don’t tell me you love it.”

Kurt glanced up into expectant, honeyed eyes. “No,” he said, “no I don’t, but I think it’s growing on me. Check back with me in a bit, okay?”

Blaine nodded, his face bright with a guileless smile, and they ate their cake in uncomplicated silence.


End file.
